Chasing Shadows
by Bishieaya
Summary: She didn't have a choice anymore, she had to find him...had to...red eyes were everywhere...She can't escape...
1. Chapter 1

Chasing Shadows

Authors Note: I do not own the characters sadly…Follows Movie ending of 'Hannibal'.

--

'_Clarice is a deep roller…lets hope for her sake that one of her parents was not…'_

The tape whizzed as it came to an end, the static whispers replacing the placid arrogance of Lectors drawl. Automatically Clarice Starling ejected the tape placed it in the pile of the five other tapes she had listened to and placed in the next one, her head once again filled with his words.

The room was dark. Outside the sun had slit its wrists and its blood spilled across the horizon seeping the last of its light onto a row of white washed, red tiled houses in Santa Teresa. Maroon red eyes stared placidly from the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the words 'Hannibal Lector' were engraved on papers, slides and subconsciously scrawled repeatedly on the makeshift desk in the centre of the dark room. Savagely scratching the nib of her pen on the worn desk Clarice added the two well known words once again to the punished desk top without realizing that it joined the many others as she increased the volume of the tape.

She had moved jurisdiction again after the Mason Incident and she had now been posted in Santa Teresa. However, shortly after arriving Clarice had handed in her registration…the pay had been poor and the officers were like all others, bigots.

'_This is the first time you have lied to me Clarice…how very sad…'_

Hands flipping through the piles of paper with practised ease looking over information already imbedded, engraved and locked within her mind.

Looking at the information on the pages was like looking at her own face.

She was now a Private Detective, it suited her, she could work on the cases she chose, choose her payment, she didn't have to report to any 'higher-ups', she didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before.

'_tsk, tsk…is that really it Clarice? Are you sure?' _

'Click' 'click' 'wiz'…the taped had finished. Shuffling the tapes into order Clarice carefully replaced them in a tin box before locking it in a drawer. Thoughtfully tapping the drawer with nail bitten fingers Clarice turned and tiptoed around the columns of papers to the door. She needed coffee.

Hans was waiting to greet her, his body arching in pleasure as she scratched his sleek dark fur as he wrapped his petite body around her legs. Clarice had gotten the cat shortly after coming to Santa, she hadn't been able to resist him. Of course he demanded the best of everything, no cat food for him, and she dished him fine strips of turkey as she waited for her coffee. Subconsciously Clarice wrinkled her nose as she watched Hans delicately bite into the juicy meat and turned away to wash her hands. After watching Lector nonchalantly fry and feed Paul a piece of his brain…meat never had the same temptation as it used to.

Inhaling the coffee's fragrance Clarice curled into the settee, Hans close beside her, as she sipped at the life saving liquid, however, her eyes continued to jump to The Room.

It was like an itch. Lector was the mosquito that had bitten her and now that little bit of him would not leave her alone…

She needed to get out, anywhere, it didn't matter. A run, yes, she would go for a run. Grabbing the Puffer jacket Clarice headed for the front door. Feet automatically slowed as she approached The Room where red eyes beckoned to her…

She kicked the front door closed as she left.

It was unusually cold, had been for several days, and Clarice was jumping on the pavement to the tune of an old skipping rhyme when they person she had phoned upon exiting her house turned around the corner at the top of the street. Kinsey Millhone was a Private detective in Santa Tersa in fact she was the person who first introduced the idea to Clarice. They had met when Clarice had gone out jogging on the beach. After that it became a ritual for them to meet up at the beach for their jog and during that time Clarice had found out that in Kinsey she had found someone very much like her. Both wanted to excel in a mans world, both cared little for their appearance-Kinsey going so far as to trim her own hair with nail clippers rather than going to a hair dressers- as well as sharing a quick wit and intelligence. Really, they could have been long lost sisters. Kinsey stopped by her wearing joggers and a long sleeve topped making Clarice's puffer jacket seem over the top.

"Well? Ready to go?" Clarice knew Kinsey could tell something was bothering her but that she would hold her questions for later, she was grateful. Both set of at a steady jog, the cool coastal air causing shivers even through the jacket. They were jogging across the sand, steps slipping and breathing harsh, when Kinsey's eyes began to bore into her side.

"Well…?" Clarice sighed at the question, unconsciously gnawing on her bottom lip.

"Its an old case-'

"The Lecter one?"

"How did you know?"

"You and it go sort of hand-in-hand"

"Great…"

"I can imagine…so, you were saying?"

"Yeah, well…I cant drop it, the case, it won't leave me alone. Even though I don't work for the Bureau any more I can't stop digging for information…more trails." Kinsey puffed a wayward strand of hacked hair off her face as the took the steps onto the pavement.

"Well…that's understandable."

"Is it?" It seemed impossible to Clarice for anyone to understand her…dedication…to Lectors case, to understand why she continued to follow the practically dead trail of the cannibalistic doctor, especially when she failed to understand it herself.

"Well…yeah, I mean you've spent a good bit of time of his case since…the Buffalo Bill incident was it? So of course you would want to catch him." Was that it? Was that why she was starved for any information on the Doctor?

"You're probably right." Kinsey flashed her a smile whose arrogance drawled 'I am always right' before both slowed to a walk as they approached Clarice's home. Agreeing coffee was in high demand they turned to enter the house, Clarice stopping to collect her mail before unlocking the door for them both.

Kinsey instantly began to snoop about the room, an instant reaction from being a PI for so long, looking over the book shelves, the pictures on the wall even inspecting with mild curiosity the sudden appearance of Hans.

"Hmm…I always figured you a dog person." Clarice ignored her but kept an eye on her to make sure she didn't attempt to enter The Room, an action she would not put pass her, as she sorted through her mail.

"Bill, bill, well you don't scare me cause I can still pay you, bill, crap, more crap, oh!" Kinsey, who had been filing through the mail Clarice discarded on the table, looked up with interest at the expensive looking envelope in Clarice's hands.

"What is it?" Clarice's heart had surged. The type of paper was the same kind of type used by Lector and her hands shook as she looked at it, running her hands over the rough texture. However.

The writing, it was wrong, it contained none of Lecters efficient flamboyance. It was small and contained, almost print like. Her breath left her in a disappointed whoosh.

The letter was actually from a Mr M. Dermont.

"Apparently he wants to hire me."

"Oh! What for?" Clarice scanned the letter, childishly thinking to refuse the work only to spite the man who gave her such unfounded hope. Mr Dermont wished to hire her in order for her to locate a missing person. Apparently Dermont and his friend Jack Yeats were supposed to meet to go travelling, however Yeats never showed at the airport forcing Dermont to begin alone, presuming that Yeats was ahead of him at their first hotel Dermont arrived to find no Yeats. Having travelled a few weeks without his friend Dermont had decided to contact someone to find him, that 'someone' being her. The letter included a list of contacts with whom she might find information on Yeats' whereabouts (it was only four persons long), the current address of Dermont as well as the promise of an update each time he moved, the home address of Yeats as well as her first payment. The money drew her up short.

"Y'know, if you don't want this job, it wont kill me to take it."

"Take a hike, I need this money as much as you do." Two hundred dollars…and this was an hourly payment. Kinsey took the letter as Clarice counted through the money.

"Interesting if a little lack of info doesn't bother you." Clarice hummed a response, already imagining what she could buy with the money, new shoes?

The coffee was piping hot, heating her hands up after the relative chill outside as she and Kinsey sat in the living room, Kinsey petting the purring Hans while Clarice wrote her reply to Dermont, agreeing to take on the case. The case was interesting on a number of levels, for one a 'Jack Yeats' has never been reported missing and surely someone would have noticed him being gone for over a few weeks, such as the people Dermont had advised her to see. Also, it appeared so structured, too structured, how could someone in Spain (that was where Dermont was currently residing) know anything about her? She hadn't been here long enough, surely writing to someone like Kinsey would have made more sense. Moreover, the money. As much as it pleased her to be receiving such a sum it was surely too much?

"So…you got anything lined up?" Kinsey looked up at the question, continuing to clap Hans.

"Anything Interesting?" Kinsey always got 'interesting' cases. Some of the stuff she took on made her work with the F.B.I seem like kids play, for one she was forced to shoot her lover who was in fact the murderer she was looking for while in a wheelie bin, her home had been detonated and she had been forced to act as a whore in order to escape detection…and this was just a few of the things she had done, that last one wasn't as sever as the rest but it was still a crap scenario.

"Not really, just some old infirmed guy thinking he's being stalked, quite easy really and good pay…though nothing compared to yours." Infirmed…the distortion of Masons face flashed in her memory.

"How badly infirmed?"

"Dunno…he's hooked up n' all though, didn't really want to ask."

"Why would someone stalk a guy like that? I mean, if he doesn't move…" Kinsey shrugged her

response.

"Maybe he's paranoid? Who knows? Anyway I better get moving, I'm to be there for eight. See ya, thanks for the coffee." Waving Kinsey off as she left Clarice couldn't damped the feeling of anxiety at the inquisitive look Kinsey had sent The Room on her way out, hopefully she would never go near it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chasing Shadows

AN: Don't own the characters including Kinsey.

--

Having posted the letter to Dermont Clarice spent the next two hours of her morning in The Room. Red eyes tracked her as she paced between the several piles of paper work sorting them into an order, writing important information onto flash cards before putting the originals into folders. Storing the newly sorted folders away into different niches in the room Clarice pinned up the flash cards, assessing the varying information on them, straining to see if she could find a link, any link, that might give her a clue as to where he was or what he might have planned. She changed the order and position of the cards several times to no avail. She also ignored the voice, that mellifluous, cool voice:

'_You know where he is…__**No I don't**__…It will be just like before…__**I don't know what you're talking about**__…He'll want to find you…__**Shut up**__…He'll be close by…__**Shut up**__…He'll come for you…'_

The coffee cup smashed against the wall splashing coffee over the pictures pinned there, some small splashes hitting the cards. Rubbing shaking hands over tired eyes Clarice regulated her breathing, slowly regaining control over herself before retrieving a dish cloth and hot water to clean up the stain, being careful to preserve the face's on the wall. Wiping the stains off the cards Clarice glared at the information while feeling the red eyes glaring all over her.

"Leave me alone" she whispered laying her head against the wall which the cards were pinned to.

"Leave me alone."

--

The house was imposing, rising into the clear Californian sky causing a large shadow to stretch before it, like the waiting maw of a monster. Kinsey stretched as she stepped out of her battered car, feeling the satisfied 'clinks' as bones shifted position. Rubbing the small of her back Kinsey approached her clients house. Knocking on the door, its once white paint peeling, Kinsey waited for the door to be answered. A middle aged old lady in a floral print dress (Kinsey believed her name to be Maude) answered the door, a blithe smile lightening her soft, trusting face.

"Why hello Miss Milhone, its so nice to see you again."

"Its nice to see you to Madame." Kinsey replied as she was ushered in, accepting the offering of a glass of juice.

"How does Mr Pinchbeck feel today?" She followed the hobbling form of Maude towards her clients room, helping her up the one step that lead into his room.

"Well dear he appears _much_ better today, he even had the window open for a little while in order to 'hear the bird song and smell spring' he'd said." She chuckled fondly as she hobbled up to the grand bed. Kinsey followed behind taking in again the room with its moth eaten curtains and rugs, the fine film of dust covering the mantle piece and cupboards. It was quite sad really.

Maude folded back the curtain hiding the occupant of the bed from view. Mr Pinchbeck was lying as Kinsey had seem his lie since she had first visited. An oxygen mask covered his face, various wires pierced into his skin which was pale and covered in a cold sweaty sheen. His hair, a steel grey, was plastered to his forehead and his eyes were closed. Maude patted his unresponsive hand as she wiped his brow with a small cloth.

"Mr Pinchbeck? Mr Pinchbeck? That Ms Kinsey Millhone here now." She patted his hand again before hobbling past Kinsey promising to bring back some tea and biscuits. With a sigh Kinsey sat in the seat - the only piece of furniture not covered in dust - and looked at the prone form of Pinchbeck with a sigh. It was going to be a long day.

--

Yeats' house had been…disquieting, it had the stench of abandonment and dust had danced in the air. However the most prominent…oddity…was the lack of living. There was no photos, no trinkets, no sense of the house ever really having been lived in. It had been unsettling…moreover the house had yielded no hints as to where Yeats had gone as there was no sign of a struggle (Clarice didn't believe that anyone had been there since his disappearance to clean up) though there was no clothes in any cupboards giving the impression that he either had left on his own free will or was intercepted later on.

Clarice now stood outside a tasteless, overbearing building. She had made an appointment with Dr Crosset who apparently had known Yeats as his name had been on the paper sent to her by Dermont. Clarice fidgeted as she waited to be admitted to Crosset's room. She moved the cheap magazines on the table, spreading them in a fan before staking them, she sorted the cuff of her new jacket and clicked the heels of her new not-cheap shoes on the floor, she brushed her hair back before beginning to pace the room. Clarice didn't like hospitals. Its whiteness, the false cheer of the employees and the scenes of death everywhere had her wanting to run. It was half an hour later that she was allowed into Crosset's room.

Crosset was a big man, his stomach spilled over the belt which was attempting to contain the excess fat, his greasy hair was slicked over his scalp in a painful attempt to hide its baldness and he stared absently at her with pale green eyes. Clarice coughed at the awkward silence that layered the room.

"Umm…Clarice Starling, Mr Crosset, I had an appointment?" His eyes, half hooded, swung towards her, his gaze not meeting hers.

"Oh." He mumbled, a limp hand motioning her towards a chair. Clarice sat.

"How…how can I help you…" His voice was heavy and slow as he gazed at her. Settling into the well known business Clarice felt herself calm.

"Its about a former patient and friend of yours Mr Crosset, a Mr Yeats?" A confused glower focused on her before he appeared to give himself a shake and began to slowly, thoughtfully, nod, tapping his hand three times on the desk.

"Yeats…yes, Yeats and I were good friends, had been for many years."

"Well, you see Doctor, Mr Yeats went missing a month ago…apparently he was going to go travelling with a Mr Dermont? Do you know anything about that or where he might be, why he might be missing?" Crosset again just looked at her his head beginning to loll forward before he tapped the desk three times.

"Yes, oh yes Dermont. Good fellow…good health, yes travelling around the world they were going to, I thought they had both gone." A frown creased Clarice's brow.

"You mean to say that you never knew Yeats had gone missing?" A slow nod.

'_That can't be right?' _Clarice thought, tapping her lips thoughtfully, '_surely Dermont had gotten in touch with someone before getting to me? Someone to check whether Yeats was alright?_

"Are you sure Doctor?" Again that pondering nod.

"Well, if you could please tell me what you were doing and where you were last month on Tuesday please?" Again he tapped the table three times.

"Well…I was here, of course, from about seven till late…about nine or ten, yes, the last patient I treated was Miggs Multi, odd fellow."

"Could…I mean…could someone verify that?" Clarice could not repress the shudder that ran through her '_I can smell your cunt.' _Miggs Multi…Multiple Miggs…Clarice bit her lip,

'_What is going on here?' _

Crosset shifted slightly, his belly rippling, as he tapped that table thrice.

"Nurse Delilah could…but she's not here today if you want to question her…" Taking a deep breathe Clarice smiled at Crosset.

"That's quite alright sir…just one more question, did you see Yeats that day or any day leading up to it?" Crosset's hands shook sickeningly at he tapped the table.

"No…no I didn't no, no…" He continued to mumble even as Clarice stood from her seat, arm outstretched.

"Thank you Doctor…here's my card, if you think of anything please get in touch." His palm was slick with sweat and he seemed to collapse against the chair as Clarice left.

She had successfully stopped shaking as she left the hospital. Crosset. From all her previous research into the man she had learned that he was a robust, obtuse individual with a penchant for groping whatever nurse crossed his path. Compared with the Crosset she met she would never have thought them to be the same person what with his hesitant manner and evasiveness. And Miggs, why did he say Miggs? Surely Lecter would never give such an obvious hint as to his presence? Or…is that what she is supposed to think? Clambering into her Mustang Clarice drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, a picture of Crossets ritual three taps on the table coming to mind, the action had seemed almost hypnotic…! Hypnotic! Lecter practised hypnotism, she knew from personal experience, but what would he gain from hypnotising a man in her case? Drumming her fingers in an increasing erratic rhythm Clarice at last jammed her key in the ignition before heading for the next name on her list, a Miss Sandra Bullock.


End file.
